


Reasons (Not Excuses)

by GhostHost



Series: Tis the Season [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Megatron and Magnus attempt to head off the insanity, Swerve discovers human holidays, and discover they're kind of friends instead, holiday maaaagic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 10:00:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12981651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostHost/pseuds/GhostHost
Summary: Ultra Magnus, the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord doesn't have friends.Ultra Magnus, the forever tired SIC of the Lost Light, just might have a few though.One of them, he discovers, might even be Megatron. Maybe. if Swerve's holiday celebrations don't kill them all first.





	Reasons (Not Excuses)

**Author's Note:**

> I was reminded that Holidaze was a fic and I went back to look at it and just, made a lot of unhappy noises/faces. So I pulled it, took the four main stories out, and made them their own sorta-related but mostly stand alone stories that just centered on the same event. Came out a lot better. 
> 
> The rest of this series is pretty much entirely a diversion from canon but I wanted to keep Mags and Megs in character. Expand something of why Magnus was so pissed when Megs stayed behind for the alternate universe. Build something between them, from this sort of forced solidarity. Something maybe they didn’t want to name but was there. 
> 
> You can read it as them as friends or it as them building into something else, whatever your preference is.

* * *

 

Ultra Magnus didn’t do parties. 

He didn’t do  _ anything  _ social for that matter. His idea of a good time was a successful night of editing paperwork without being interrupted. His hobbies were so dry half the mechs on board were horrified to learn what he did for fun, and the concept of “hanging out” was about as foreign as the idea of “relaxing.”  The Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord just didn’t  _ do  _ those things, and while Mangus no longer held that position, he wasn’t separate from it. Not yet. 

Unfortunately, the rest of the world didn’t operate like that.

Intricate social interactions might have been beyond him but Magnus  _ did  _ recognize the importance of things like friends and social gatherings. Giving people things to connect to, look forward too, was a large part of maintaining a functioning army. Having approved events also greatly cut back on non-approved ones, which tended to have more things like alcohol overindulgence, petty crimes, and unnecessary paperwork involved. 

Which was why approving something as utterly stupid and alien as Swerve’s mashed celebration of human  holidays  _ seemed  _ safe. Few mechs on board the _ Lost Light _ had been to Earth, fewer still were interested in half the human related garbage Swerve regularly cranked out. It would be seen as a blatant excuse to party and despite Magnus’s utter hatred of _ those _ , having a sanctioned one every now and then at least seemed to shut Rodimus up, if nothing else. 

The issue was that Magnus had greatly underestimated how many bots would  _ love _ the idea. He’d signed off on the paperwork less than two hours ago and already there was tinsel and a some sort of contraption that was likely supposed to mimic a tree in place in the bar. 

Magnus took a moment to stare at in horror, before shaking himself out of it. 

He had a target to find.

Swerve as always, was behind the bar, happily chatting to a few regulars. Skids sat diligently in front of him, shoulders slumped. 

Magnus’s optics focused immediately on him.

Skids was close to Swerve. Magnus wondered if the mech was equally tired of this idiocy and if so, could be used to help convince his roommate to Cease and Desist before things got out of control. Because that’s exactly where this “celebration” was headed. This many people excited, with things moving this quickly? 

Best to squash it now, before it grew a life of its own. 

A lesson he had learned the hard way. 

“Hey Mags!” Swerve called brightly. Magnus winced at the dreaded nickname, but braved on. “Come to see the bar?” 

“Yes--No.” He corrected. “I have come to talk to you about your, ah, activities, though.”

“Sure! Do you want to volunteer to help out? We haven’t got the board up yet, but we’ve got a number of people already requesting to decorate!” Swerve was positively beaming, the happiness in his field almost amplified by Skids poorly hidden dejection. 

“It’s November.” Magnus said, who still kept track of the human dates for reasons he kept closely to himself (though most mechs who had seen his avatar and had known Verity had a few good guesses.)

“So? It’s close enough right?” Swerve said, undeterred.”Besides most of the holidays take place for the entire month. Like Hanukkah!” Magnus hadn’t thought it possible for Swerve to look any happier, but the minibot outdid himself rather quickly, face positively glowing. “Did you know--”

“Yes.” Magnus said, cutting him off with no remorse whatsoever. “I did.” 

He didn’t. 

He just really, absolutely, did not want to hear about it. 

“Plus we might not be _ alive  _ next month.” Muttered Skids, who also understood the human calendar year. Swerve’s Earth obsession had an impact on him more than he cared to admit. “Might as well do something fun before we all go  _ grey. _ ” 

And if that right there wasn’t a sign that moral actually did need improving, nothing else was going to be. 

Magnus grit his teeth, tried to center himself. He could do this. He’d handled Decepticon attacks led by the best of their military strategists.He himself  led by example as the best version of Ultra Magnus to date. He’d proved his entire family wrong in their opinion of what he could and could not do based on his size and he would not be defeated by something so silly as the  _ human holidays.  _

“Aww you’re not here to try and stop it are you?” Swerve said, visibly deflating at the thought. “Come on, I did everything right! Didn’t you get the papers?” 

“I did, but--”

“But?” Swerve said nervously, hands worrying at a glass. “Come on Mags! I did everything right! I know I did, I had it all checked over!” 

_ ‘Ah-ha! There  _ was  _ someone else involved in this mess!’ _

Magnus just _ knew _ it was Rodimus. Maybe even Drift. The ex-Con  liked to play competent, but no one could proclaim to be sane while also giving Rodimus total access to their personal bank account. An account Rodimus used to buy things right out from Magnus’s nose, under the guise of a personal purchase. Like water balloons and organic whip cream.

Things Ultra Magnus absolutely did not want to hear the explanation for. 

“--and it’s even in compliance with  the Autobot code!” Swerve was working himself up enough to draw the attention of others. A lot of others. 

An eerie silence descended on the bar, as a number of optics swung to Magnus. Watched, as the larger mech worked his intake, processor scrambling to find anything he could in the code to refute Swerve.

Anything.

Anything at all. Even a hint of something going askew! 

Two painfully silent scans through, and Magnus knew he had nothing. The Autobot Code, the rules that ruled his spark, were clear on where they stood in the matter.

Even if he this had not been his intention when he’d written that addendum, the festivities were covered by it. It wouldn’t be for long, Magnus would be changing it the second he returned to his office, but that would not stop the present issue at hand. 

Other mechs knew it too. 

“Can he do that?” Someone in the back whispered. “Go against the code?” 

_ ‘No.’ _ Magnus thought, his own shoulders slumping. ‘ _ I can’t.’ _

He was going to have to let Swerve have his celebration. 

It took a moment for him to come to the realization, another for him to accept it, but facts were facts. And at the end of the day...

“You’re right.” He said to Swerve, forcing the words out no matter how they hurt him. “The code is clear. Have fun with your…” Magnus tried. He really did. But the word ‘party’ simply wouldn’t come. “You’re--” He tried again, glossa tripping over the word. 

Swerve thankfully saved him by throwing his hands in the air and announcing a round of free drinks in celebration.

“Small ones!” He added over the cheers of the bar. No one heard him, and he was quickly buried in orders. 

Forgotten, Magnus remained where he was, staring off into the distance and trying to keep himself steady. He was not used to defeat-(or rather, hadn’t been, until he started serving under Rodimus) but the feeling of impending doom was still unfamiliar enough to make his tanks hurt. 

He took a deep vent, trying to calm himself as Whirl ran past wrapped in strings of multi-colored lights. He took in the bar, imagining it at its worst, decked out in decorations and drunk mechs and  _ holiday cheer-- _

But it was alright. He could handle this.

If he couldn’t stop the festivities, he could at least  _ manage t _ hem. 

There was still Megatron after all. How odd that the ex-warlord, the greatest enemy of his entire fraction and more than a few planets, had quickly become Magnus’s greatest ally. 

He hated to borrow another human term, particularly under the circumstances, but Verity had once spoken to him of a concept called Wonderland, and well,

Magnus was feeling more and more like Alice, everyday. 

 

xXx

“You said there was no law on the books that could stop this…Christmahanakwanzika?” Megatron said, pronouncing the word slowly, yet incorrectly a few days later. 

He looked straight ahead until Ultra Magnus, whose head had been slumped down face first on his desk, rose and tidied himself, knowing the larger mech would be upset if Megatron saw him at all out of sorts.

He was expecting a terribly embarrassed field to flee from Megatron's own when he reached out---and was mildly surprised when Magnus’s did not. Instead  he was met something akin to resignation and mild despair. 

They had taken harder hits than this and yet, the human holidays were having an effect in Megatron’s second in a way that almost concerned him. 

The plating around the mech’s optics were tight, which was the first thing Megatron noticed when he felt it safe to look at Magnus. A sure sign of stress. The brief chips in his paint around his fingers (likely caused by the death grip he had on the stylus) and the uncharacteristic stacks of datapads were the others. 

The apocalypse was happening. Megatron was nearly certain of it.

“No.” Magnus said, voice strained. He tapped his stylus once on the book--an actual, physical book--he was reading, Megatron quickly identified it as the Autobot Code. 

He hadn’t even known they had a physical copy lying about, but it didn’t surprise him. Magnus prepared for everything, after all. 

“What about cause of harm to other crew-members?” 

“Swerve said it was an accident and Trailbreaker backed him up.” Magnus responded immediately. Megatron could only stare at him while he processed there had _ already  _ been an incident and not the one he was referring too. 

It didn’t take him too long to realize he _ really _ did not want to know. 

“Ravage was the complainant.” Megatron said instead. “I’m not sure what was done to him, but he’s refusing to come out from under my berth. I am certain I can at least get him to admit emotional discomfort over the whole thing.”

“Section 8, lines 5 through 9 of the Code.” The intonation was sad, the one a dying mech might use and Megatron, now long used to Magnus quoting bits of the Code at him with seemingly no context, knew that it meant a piece of the thing disagreed with him.  

Megatron however, was not one to be deterred. Most certainly not by something so stupid as an Autobot book full of rules and conducts.

“Move over.” He demanded after a moment. “Let me see it.” 

He pulled the chair--his chair, from the last time they had poured over the manual together to stop something inane on board--from the corner and dutifully set it next to Magnus. The mech automatically made room for him, scooting the manuale over to help Megatron see it, and as one they bent their helms together to read.

There had to be _ something  _ to stop the madness. 

Four hours went by before both mechs finally admitted defeat.

There was no stopping Swerve’s holidays. 

Best they could do was ride it out and hope for the best--which, was exactly what they did.

 

xXx

If you had told Ultra Magnus six months ago that his favorite person on an Autobot ship was  _ Megatron _ , he’d have had you arrested for public intoxication. 

Now, he’d just assume you were better at reading people then most.

He liked Rodimus. He did! The younger bot had a ton of potential and a good head on his shoulders when he bothered to think. The issue was that he _ never  _ bothered to think.

Or submit reports on time.

Megatron, on the other hand, did. He did more than submit reports in fact--he adhered to the strict schedules, attended every meeting, spoke with mechs all over the ship and generally ran the  _ Lost Light _ like a proper commander should. Magnus didn’t have to chase him, chastise him, or threaten him to do a single thing.

He didn’t even have to send the mech a  _ reminder.  _

Instead, Megatron let Magnus do his own job, which reduced the former Enforcer’s workload dramatically and allowed him to do things like teach Tailgate about the Autobot Code, or keep better track of whatever potential headaches Brainstorm was brewing in his laboratory. 

There was the whole business about Megatron being a former Warlord, let alone a tyrant and general dictator, but if Magnus thought about all that too hard he’d shut down. Frankly, if he thought about half the weirdness that had occurred since he’d boarded the  _ Lost Light  _ he’d have problems so he took a page from Rodimus’s book and just.

Didn’t think about it. 

Kept not thinking about it, even as he and Megatron had taken to working together to avoid certain mechs, finish paperwork, and generally try and run this whole farce of an adventure. 

Something they’d been doing a lot more successfully since Swerve’s festivities had started.

“We’re caught up on paperwork.” Megatron announced, as the Captain walked through the door. 

Magnus blinked up at him. “You’re kidding.” He said, even though h’d confirmed the same thing himself only a few moments before. He had just assumed Megatron would be coming in with the next round.  “ _ All _ of it?” 

“All of it.” Megatron repeated, lips titled in what might have been a smile. He’d practically moved into Magnus’s office the last week, as Rodimus had turned the shared Captain’s office into “Santa Central.”

Magnus didn’t know what that was and at this point, was too afraid to ask. 

Megatron’s shudder had told him all he needed to know. 

“Is that what I think it is?” Magnus asked, as Megatron  cleared a part of his desk off and set a battered box in-between them.

“It is.” Megatron said, slowly pulling out and setting up an ancient Cybertronian strategy game. “With the festivities distracting everyone, I thought we could take a moment to have a celebration of our own.” 

“I didn’t think you’d bother to keep something like this.” Magnus helped clean off more parts of the desk, moving (thankfully little) datapads so they could both have more room. 

It got him another, almost smile. “You’ll find I might surprise you.”

“You already have.” Magnus replied, with his own small smile.

Magnus didn’t have friends, and certainly wasn’t friends with Megatron, the former Commander of the Decepticons. 

But he _ might _ be friends with Megatron, Captain of the _ Lost Light. _

Maybe. 

They’d have to see. 


End file.
